If the Heart Is Unsure
by Lady Bedivere
Summary: Marguerite remembers the night she first confessed that she was in love with Sir Percy...but not to him.


Marguerite sat with her husband in the drawing room, as they often did after their rare suppers at home. She watched him as he slept sprawled in his overstuffed chair in front of the fire. Was this truly the man she married? Was this lazy, watery-eyed dandy the dashing young Englishman she had fallen in love with a year ago? It seemed that ages had passed since she had first confessed her love for Percy Blakeney. Slowly her thoughts drifted to the night of that confession…

"You seem pensive, Citoyenne St. Just. What has so occupied my lady's mind, or should I ask who?"

Marguerite turned around in surprise to see a black-clad man standing in the doorway of her salon. "Chauvelin!" she exclaimed. She hurried to the door and greeted the familiar visitor with a kiss on the cheek. He returned the kiss and allowed her to lead him to the divan.

"You are full of surprises, Chauvelin; but I am for once quite glad of them. Come, sit by me. I need some distraction," said Marguerite. She clasped his hand and pulled him to sit beside her. He complied. "You seem rather distracted as it is, petite," Chauvelin said. He gave her one of his rare smiles and gently put his arm around her shoulders.

"Now tell me, what is bothering you? Certainly the cleverest beauty in Paris is not suffering ennui." He looked into her eyes and studied them intently. "Ah, there is a gleam in your eyes which was not there yesterday; and dare I say there is a fresh blush to your cheeks? However, I believe I know quite well the cause: methinks the lady is in love." Quickly she broke gaze and turned away from him. "Am I right?"

Marguerite heaved a deep sigh and, without thinking, leaned back against Chauvelin's chest. "Oh, Chauvelin," she whispered, "I never have been able to hide my feelings from you, have I? Yes, I…I do believe I may be in love. The trouble is, I'm afraid of being wrong."

Chauvelin absentmindedly stroked her hair. "Tell me about him," he said simply.

"He is a remarkable man. He has a fine wit, which is thankfully quite a match for my own. He is tall, very tall, with fine blond hair and the bluest eyes I've ever seen…" Marguerite trailed off. So lost was she in her thoughts of this suitor that she did not notice Chauvelin's hand tighten around a lock of her hair. "It's the Englishman, you know," she said at last. "Sir Percival Blakeney is his name."

Chauvelin resumed stroking Marguerite's hair, but he also had become lost in though. He had seen this Englishman, with his fine silks and airy manner. A man who hardly seemed right for this restless bird who was the cleverest woman in all of France. He had always pictured Marguerite falling in love with a man of action whose beliefs were as strong as her own, whose mind was more filled with duty that fashion, a man more like…

After a long while he spoke. "We cannot always choose who we fall in love with." She turned her head and looked at him. He stared back tenderly. "Marguerite, one must always be true to the heart if nothing else. If the heart tells you this is right, then follow it. However, if the heart is unsure-" He stopped. Suddenly, he kissed her lips. For a long moment they remained frozen there, until Chauvelin slowly pulled away from a stunned Marguerite.

"However, if the heart is unsure, perhaps it would be best to wait…or to seek the advice of one whose heart is positive." Chauvelin stood and gave a formal bow. "Goodnight, Marguerite," was all he said before he turned and left.

Although she had continued to see him, that was the last time Chauvelin had come to her salon. A month later, Percy had proposed, and soon she had found herself a bride. In England as in France, she quickly became the center of the public eye. She had everything she had ever wanted…

Didn't she? As she looked back to her sleeping husband, Chauvelin's words rang in her ears: "However, if the heart is unsure…" She believed at one time that everything was right; now things had changed, and she wasn't sure what to believe.

She realized that Percy had awakened and was standing by her chair. "You seem pensive, m'dear. What has so occupied your mind?"

"Nothing, love," she replied quietly. "But I am tired. I'll off to bed now." As Percy kissed her, she couldn't help but remember another kiss she had once been given. Hurriedly, she left for her room. She hoped that everything might seem clearer after a good night's sleep.

Percy watched his wife leave. He could tell she was troubled, but he didn't dare ask why. He sank down into the chair which she had just risen from and inhaled the scent of the rose perfume she so often wore. Everything would be alright; he knew deep in his heart everything would be alright.


End file.
